


not in my face, but in my soul

by CallicoKitten



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Character Study, Gen, god save me from these wonderful awful victorian assholes, there aren't actually pairings so it's all up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:37:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daemons have always been fascinating to her, that people were born, created -by god or through science or through some other unfathomable force  - with their souls on their outside is the most enduring mystery in the world. It leaves them so vulnerable, their hearts on their sleeves, with one glance you can tell a man’s temperament, his trade, how often he loses his temper. You can tell how much fight a woman has, you can read her life story in the fur or feathers or scales of her companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not in my face, but in my soul

**Author's Note:**

> i'm hopelessly in love with this bunch of monstrous losers
> 
> there's not much plot, i might come back to this 'verse and do a caliban story.
> 
> i'm not happy with sir malcolm's daemon but he's not exactly a main character in this fic and my original idea (a fossa) didn't seem right either? maybe he'll undergo a dramatic form change if i revisit this.
> 
> daemon forms and names and waffling at the end.

Mina's daemon is a dove. Even at the end he is a dove, perched on her shoulder, feathers as bright and pristine as the day he first settled.

He is a dove as Mina grabs her and holds her tight, throat exposed, (and Vanessa does not for a second believe that Mina will kill her - not _her_ Mina, never - ) and he is a dove as he bursts into swirling golden dust before their eyes. It is not their first time witnessing death but it is their first time witnessing a friend simply cease to exist.

-

Daemons have always been fascinating to her, that people were born, created -by god or through science or through some other unfathomable force - with their souls on their outside is the most enduring mystery in the world. It leaves them so vulnerable, their hearts on their sleeves, with one glance you can tell a man’s temperament, his trade, how often he loses his temper. You can tell how much fight a woman has, you can read her life story in the fur or feathers or scales of her companion.

It is both wonderful and horrifying, as she has found most areas of life to be.

She keeps a journal on them, has done so since she was a child. She has almost a complete study of daemon forms - the common ones anyway - and the temperaments they betray. Sir Malcolm suggested publishing it more than once but there are some observations she and El would like to keep to themselves. For now, anyway. 

Her own soul is a thing of beauty, if she may be so bold. A sleek black cat with dancing green eyes, larger than the average moggy, though not as large as the jungle cats they keep in London zoo, the size of a large dog perhaps. Cats, she has found, often hide more than they show but her Elior is black as pitch, a bad omen, they say, shying away from them on the street. It is something she will come to cling to in the years after Mina's disappearance, the years that brought all manner of things out of the ghost stories she heard and told during childhood kicking and screaming into reality.

When she is gone, taken by another spirit, he flicks between shapes, Sir Malcolm has told her, like the daemon of a child and sometimes he simply ceases to exist. She cannot bare to imagine that, the idea of El simply _not being_ is beyond her and yes, she is not so sheltered that she has not heard of those who have no daemons - the severed but she is not severed. She is whole.

She has often wandered what would happen if one day he simply did not reassemble. If she were to come back to herself as half a being. It is the kind of thought that makes him claw at her, bite at her hands, “Do not dwell on such things, you silly little girl. It does not bare considering.”

And she will pretend not to notice the tremor in his voice and the tension in his body, just as he pretends not to notice the way her hands shake a little.

They have a strange bond, she and her little dark soul, it is what some people would assume to be not close but that’s not strictly true. There has been a growing ocean between them since the devil first visited her, all those years ago but they are still one being and he is truly the only one she can trust.

_

Ethan Chandler’s daemon is no more revealing of his darker side than the man himself. A lank, battle-scarred coyote that lopes behind him and talks with the same brash accent as her human. Leto, they learn her name is.

"The hidden one," Elior says with a flick of his tail. "We seem to be surrounding ourselves with fascinating people, Vanessa."

"We do indeed."

_  
It takes them almost a year to put a name to Sir Malcolm’s daemon’s form.

There are limits to form identifying, especially for those whose daemons settle as something of the exotic persuasion. There was a time when she believed that only those who travelled frequently, or who hailed from far off lands had daemons not found in Britain. Of course, she was surrounded by mundanity; her mother and father had unremarkable daemons, the servants all had dogs, of course, but for their nanny who had a fat clucking hen. When she very young her parents had taken her to the docks with the Murray children to welcome their father back from Africa, she had never seen such forms. Elior had soared above her as magpie, calling down to her all the new creatures he had spied; a tall cat with tufted ears and a spotted coat, a deer with the snout of an elephant, a small strange armoured creature that could roll into a ball. (Of course, they tried on all these forms as soon as they got home and got scolded for it - it is unladylike to take such forms, she is told.)

Sir Malcolm’s daemon is a pig, more a boar, with huge curled horns that spring from her mouth and curl backwards.

She pesters him when he is home, begging him to provide a name for Feran’s strange form. He chuckles and Feran snorts at them both, “There is a fairly extensive daemon zoology section here in the library, Vanessa,” Sir Malcolm tells her. “I’m sure you can find your answers there.”

And oh, what a library it is.

She has, of course, visited the Murray’s library before; Peter would bury himself in atlases, in adventure books, in the diaries of explorers, Mina favoured romance and she and El had always sought out the stranger works, the ones proposing ancient, lost civilisations or hidden cults and mysterious curses. (Do not worry; the irony won’t be lost on her later.) But the daemon section is one she hasn’t ventured into before.

There are four full bookcases, full of books, huge and leather-bound, ancient and falling apart, some aren’t even books, they find, but are simply pages bound or fastened together, hastily with twine or messily with wax. There are the usual books, A Layman’s Guide to Daemon-forms and Settling, A Beginners Guide to Daemonolgy, but there are others they find that are far more interesting. A text by some radical in the Magisterium about severing, about the burst of energy released at that precise moment, hundreds of essays and theories about something called Dust, whole books about the Good Lord Christ’s daemon and what shape she had taken.

It opens up a whole new world for her.

(Sir Malcolm’s daemon is a babirusa, they find, a type of pig from Indonesia. It is curious, they think, that she - and she is a she - has a male form.)

_

Dorian’s daemon is the most breathtaking creature she has ever seen. A small bird perched on his shoulder, her head and wings are jet black but the rest of her body is a most exquisite crimson red. She should look plainer Vanessa thinks. They have seen bird daemons of more spectacular colour after all, ones with intricate patterns and wonderful tails but there is something about Dorian's little bird that draws the eye.

 

(“Matches her human, then,” Elior purrs.)

 

"We haven’t seen that shape before," Elior remarks as Dorian crosses the room towards her.

"Mm," she hums, "Quite intriguing aren’t they."

They do not learn her name until later that day in the gardens, until her nose is pressed to the beautiful belladonna.

"Your daemon," Dorian begins.

"Elior," Vanessa offers with a smile.

"Elior," Dorian repeats, rolling the word off his tongue as though savouring it. "He is quite beautiful." His hand hovers just above El’s back, fingers tantalisingly close to his soft fur. She has only touched one other daemon in her life and Elior has only felt one other’s hands on him but at that moment they both hope that Dorian will lower his fingers to curl in that dark fur.

He doesn’t though; instead he withdraws his hand and reaches up to stroke the back of his little daemon, perched on a plant between them.

"One would have thought," Vanessa says with a grin, "that someone with a daemon such as yours would shy away from those with Elior’s form."

Elior chooses this moment to yawn, exposing his shiny, sharp teeth.

Dorian smirks, “Oh, my little Oleander doesn’t need to worry about things like that.”

Vanessa cocks her head, “How so?”

"She has the form of a pitohui bird from New Guinea. Her feathers contain a powerful neurotoxin akin to that of a poison dart frog."

“Well, it appears there is much more to you than meets the eye, Mr Gray.”

_

(“Rubbish bird,” she will chant one day to him, “Rubbish bird, rubbish bird, rubbish bird! The natives call them rubbish bird because they are not good to eat!” And Elior will be a magpie or a crow or a raven and he will caw out his harsh, grating laughter while Dorian looks, on caught between terror and excitement.)

_

Her daemon settles first, before Peter's, before Mina's. There is no great story to it, she simply wakes up one day to find Elior as a large black cat and he never changes again. Peter, of course, is devastated; he had hoped that Arella would settle before Sir Malcolm's return in the winter, he had hoped to be the first of them to come of age, being the eldest. He sulks for days.

 

Mina on the other hand is enchanted.

 

"But what does it feel like, Van? It must feel different _somehow_. Do you at least feel more grown up?" she asks, late one rainy evening. They are huddled in her bed, blankets thrown up around them, suspended and propped up to create a small fort. Mina's Celio has taken the form of a firefly; his tiny body is their only source of light.

 

She doesn't feel more grown up (that will come later when she ventures into the maze late one night and happens upon a sight that will never quite leave her but she doesn't know this yet) but she definitely feels _different_. 

 

"I don't know if _grown up_ is the right word for it," she says as Mina frowns. "More...More _correct_ , if that makes any sense," she glances at El, who is as usually no help whatsoever. "It simply feels right."

 

Mina smiles, "I cannot wait until I feel like that. Do you like his form, Van? I can't imagine how awful it must be for those people who are unhappy with their daemons. I have a cousin whose daemon settled as a horse of all things, completely unladylike, she was _devastated_."

 

Vanessa grins at El, "He'll do."

 

And Mina beams but then she leans in conspiritally, "Were you not disappointed that he didn't settle as a bird? You were always so keen on that. Just in case," she drops her voice to a whisper as though they are in danger of being overheard, "the thing about your grandmother is _true_."

 

Ah, yes. The family shame. 

 

Vanessa has never once understood why it is treated as such; after all, witches are held in high regard throughout most of society. Should it matter so much that there is many a rumour about her father's mother? About her convenient disappearance and her albatross daemon that could stray just a little too far from her side? 

 

It was Mina who spread her the rumour - not the rumour about her grandmother, Vanessa was already well versed in that little kerfuffle - no, the one about how witchcraft sometimes skips a generation.

 

She has to admit, the idea of flight and longevity is enchanting.

 

El chooses this moment to dig his claws into Vanessa's thigh. 

 

"No, I'm quite happy with how he is now," she says, curling a hand through his thick, dark fur as he purrs loudly.

 

(Being a witch would be awfully scandalous, after all.)

-

Victor Frankenstein's daemon is another oddity.

A small primate, she thinks, looking more like a stuffed toy than an actual creature. He, Asclepius, Victor introduces him as during their first encounter, is quiet, sparsely furred with long spindly fingers and large bat-like ears and cat-like eyes. 

She searches in her many books for his form and comes up empty. 

It is the demon that tells her in the end, whispers it in her ear during some delirium (she is reaching for El but she cannot grasp him and her body is not her own, _her body is not her own_.)

 _An aye-aye,_ the demon whispers, full of venom and glee. _An omen of death, the kill it on sight, you know._

The demon continues to whisper of her new found acquaintances sins - Malcolm's failures that she has always been painfully aware of, Ethan's hidden nature, Dorian's rotten core, the daemon-less shadow that haunts Victor Frankenstein and his strange, gremlin daemon.

They are all so hopelessly lost, already half taken by the darkness, it is almost enough to make her want to give up.

-

It is Mina's idea, surprising as that may be. (Later, Vanessa while cherish these little surprises above all else. The few times Mina's daring and courage outstripped her own.)

They are in the maze; it is mid-summer, sweltering even in the late afternoon. Celio has finally settled, stretching his pale wings in the sun, perched on El's head. 

Mina has snuck a book out of her mother's room under her skirts. It is the kind of book Vanessa wouldn't usually care for, too much romance, too little adventure but this book is _banned_ by the Magestirium, by all the churches in the land. 

Their heads are bent together over the pages as they read, breathless with the thrill of it and with laughter. They have not yet reached the scene yet, the controversial one, the one Vanessa heard her mother whispering about in a scandalised tone to several of her friends, the one with _daemon touching_.

Mina is a faster reader then her and Vanessa knows by the way Mina sucks in a breath that she has found it. Celio and El both crowd closer to read along. 

It isn't very long, a few paragraphs at most. The young woman and her gallant young man are hiding out in a forest when he tells a story from mythology, of two lovers so hopeless entwined within each other that they and their daemons all became one. It started by touching, he says and the young woman is suitably embarrassed until he catches her off guard and strokes the fur of her little rabbit daemon. It feels indescribable, says the book, like nothing on Earth, the best feeling possible.

It makes Vanessa's skin crawl. It is a _sin_ to touch another's daemon and besides, El is hers and hers alone. She does not wish to share him. 

But Mina, full of surprises today Mina, exhales slowly and shuts the books, cheeks a little flushed as she turns to Vanessa, "Do you think it really feels so heavenly? I'd never have imagined but - It _could_ , couldn't it?"

"Mina, it's a _sin_ ," Vanessa says, wonderingly. This is _Mina_ ; Mina with the dove daemon saying this.

Mina waves a dismissive hand, "There are churches in which it is a sin for a woman to speak without a man's permission, Van. I would - " she falters, flushing again and then continues in a shyer tone, "Would you - Could we....?"

They have already experimented in kissing, just so they are both properly prepared for when they finally kiss their husbands to be but _this_? This is different.

Mina leans in closer, "Come on, Van. I just want to know what it feels like."

Vanessa looks to El who is sat between them watching them intently, pupils blown wide. His tail is swishing side to side slowly. Mina raises a hand and lets it hover a little way above his dark fur.

"Please, Vanessa," she all but whispers.

Vanessa has never been good a denying Mina so she nods, silently, breathlessly and Mina pales a little, takes a few shaky breaths to steady herself before dropping her hand and - _oh_.

Oh, oh, oh.

-

They bury Mina next to Peter's empty grave and Vanessa designs the little gold coin with Celio's likeness stamped on it herself. 

The crowd is small, a few of their parent's friends who all shake Sir Malcolm's hand and tell him how very sorry they are and say things like _such a shame, she was a lovely girl_ and _that's the danger with allowing young women to travel, they are so easily influenced._ Vanessa is unsure what Malcolm has actually told them about Mina's death, she doesn't really care, they didn't _know_ Mina. They didn't know what her favourite songs were or that she liked honey better than jam or how soft Celio's feathers were. 

"Maybe we didn't know her so well, either," El mutters as the coffin descends.

"That wasn't her," Vanessa says back. "You know it wasn't her."

"No," El whispers. "No, I don't. Not anymore."

Vanessa ignores him, focuses instead of the memories she has of before that night when she ruined everything. She wonders what Mina would think of Dorian, of the boys who have come out of respect and stand slightly apart from the other mourners looking distinctly uncomfortable. Vanessa hasn't missed the way Victor's strange, dark daemon is sat atop Leto, the same way Brona's little sparrow used to be. 

She arches an eyebrow at this when only Ethan is looking and he simply quirks an eyebrow back. 

She wonders if the good doctor is still as pure as he once was.

El rolls his eyes, "Don't be _grotesque_ , Vanessa. No one wants to think about _that_."

-

She will visit Mina's grave often and trace the small dove carved on the stone until it becomes smooth and ingrained in her memory. She will read Mina the letters she wrote her one by one, she will talk to her of everything and nothing and she will never, never in this lifetime or the next, allow anyone to touch El again.

**Author's Note:**

> Vanessa = Elior (god is my light), a black cat which are widely considered bad luck and are associated with the devil often
> 
> Mina = Celio (heaven) a dove, obvious symbolism is obvious
> 
> Sir Malcolm = ? a babirusa i have no reasoning behind this decision meh
> 
> Ethan = Leto (hidden one) a coyote, i thought about a wolf but i kind of like the idea that when he changes she changes. coyote's are traditionally tricksters in native american lore
> 
> Dorian = Oleander (a type of poisonous plant) a pitohui bird, dorian needed something beautiful and deadly but not something obviously deadly? it needed to be delicate enough to hide his nature and this seemed to be the best fit
> 
> Victor = asclepius (greek god of medicine and healing - i thought about naming him prometheus but there is a limit to symbolism, even for me) an aye-aye, i initially thought about giving him a spider/crow/reptile of some kind but i thought they were a little common-place. i'm not even sure if aye-ayes had been discovered at this point but whatever.
> 
> Peter= arella (messenger) she'd be a beagle


End file.
